he claims of his mother; the fact that there was no near
heir--he did not even know who would come in his place; that he would
do as well with the property as another; that he had been already
grievously wronged; that his mother's memory would be yet more
grievously wronged; that the marriage had been a marriage in the sight
of God, and as such he surely of all men was in heaven's right to
regard it! and his mother had been the truest of wives to his father!
These things and more Donal saw he might plead with himself; and if he
was the man he had given him no small ground to think, he would in all
probability listen to them. He would recall or assume the existence of
many precedents in the history of noble families; he would say that,
knowing the general character of their heads, no one would believe a
single noble family without at least one unrecorded, undiscovered, or
well concealed irregularity in its descent; and he would judge it the
cruellest thing to have let him know the blighting fact, seeing that in
ignorance he might have succeeded with a good conscience.

But what kind of a father was this, thought Donal, who would thus
defile his son's conscience! he had not done it in mere revenge, but to
gain his son's submission as well! Whether the poor fellow leaned to
the noble or ignoble, it was no marvel he should wander about looking
scarce worthy the name of man! If he would but come to him that he
might help him! He could at least encourage him to refuse the evil and
choose the good! But even if he would receive such help, the foregone
passages between them rendered it sorely improbable it would ever fall
to him to afford it!

That his visits to Eppy were intermitted, Donal judged from her
countenance and bearing; and if he hesitated to sacrifice his own pride
to the truth, it could not be without contemplating as possible the
sacrifice of her happiness to a lie. In such delay he could hardly be
praying "Lead me not into temptation:" if not actively tempting
himself, he was submitting to be tempted; he was lingering on the evil
shore.

Andrew Comin staid yet a week--slowly, gently fading out into
life--darkening into eternal day--forgetting into knowledge itself.
Donal was by his side when he went, but little was done or said; he
crept into the open air in his sleep, to wake from the dreams of life
and the dreams of death and the dreams of sleep all at once, and see
them mingling together behind him like a br